


Until You Just Can't

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Wetting, but not in a kinky way, canon AU, what is this i am so sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-12 18:00:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1194387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>The hope in Harry’s voice had been nearly palpable when he begged over the phone, “What if you</i> both <i>picked me up from the airport?” and let it never be said that Louis didn’t do anything for his friends.</i></p><p>Or the one where Louis probably doesn't hate Nick, but that doesn't mean he ever wanted to end up in <i>this</i> situation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Until You Just Can't

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of those ideas that comes to you and you're like "Should I?" I decided the answer was a resounding "yes."
> 
> I own no one portrayed in this story for which they can thank their lucky stars.

It’s not that Louis _hated_ Nick Grimshaw…no, that wasn’t it at all.  It was just that he could think of probably a thousand other ways he’d prefer to spend his Saturday morning than sitting in the passenger seat of the radio DJ’s pretentious little Mercedes.  Like being chased by a starving bear or getting a tooth pulled or waking up to find that some bandmate or another had shaved his leg hair off while he slept.  Again.

Okay, so maybe he _did_ hate him a little bit, but there were only so many times a guy could be slagged off on international radio before he started to get resentful.  The label “whiny popstar” wasn’t one that Louis enjoyed having attributed to himself, and especially not by the world’s most frustrating of giraffe-sized humans.  But Nick meant a lot to Harry and Harry meant a lot to Louis so he was going to try.  The hope in Harry’s voice had been nearly palpable when he begged over the phone, “What if you _both_ picked me up from the airport?” and let it never be said that Louis didn’t do anything for his friends.

It’d been only ten minutes and Louis was starting to wonder if friendship was really worth it.  He had been hoping for a forty-five-minute drive of mutually pretending the other didn’t exist – it was what they did at parties, after all – but apparently Nick had chosen today of all days to be civil and the DJ hadn’t shut up since they’d begun their trip.  His comments were pointless, nonsensical, and rambling – Louis thought passingly that he was much like Harry in that regard, but without the cute dimples to make up for it – and it was all a bit much for seven in the morning.  And, as if to add insult to injury, Louis had to wee, like, yesterday.

He squirmed in his seat as subtly as possible, crossing his legs loosely at the ankle.  He’d slept through his alarm that morning, waking up to an annoyingly chipper Nick slamming his fists against his front door and yelling, “Did you really forget our playdate, Tomlinson?”  In his haste to shut him the hell up, Louis had yanked on a pair of jeans, shoved a stick of gum in his mouth, and run out the door without using the toilet.  Twelve miles down the road, his teeth clenched and thighs pressed together, Louis decided that had been a very big mistake.

As Nick went on and on about the new tricks he was teaching Puppy, Louis stared longingly out the window, only half listening.  They were passing coffee shops and fast food joints and corner stores, all perfectly acceptable pit stops, but the last thing Louis wanted to do was give Nick even more material for the Breakfast Show.  Being the “whiny popstar” was bad enough…Louis wasn’t sure he could handle being the “whiny popstar with the weak bladder” as well.  Knowing Nick, Louis would hear about it for the next three years.  The bloke just didn’t know when to give it up.

“A little distracted, sweetheart?” Nick spoke up from the driver’s seat, breaking into Louis’ thoughts and making him jump.  He let out a tiny gasp and re-crossed his legs against the flare of pain in his middle.

Whipping his head around to glare at the older man, Louis spit out, his voice a little quivery, “No!  I’m just tired.”

Eyes widening, Nick took his hands off the steering wheel to hold them up in a show of self-defense.  “Calm down, mate…I was just asking!”  Before Louis could snap that they were going to be killed, Nick put his hands back on the wheel and studied Louis out of the corner of his eye.  Louis would have struggled to not squirm on a good day, but the added pressure of his full bladder made it almost impossible to hold still beneath Nick’s attention.  “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” Louis snipped, though he was decidedly not.  “Besides…why do you care?”

Nick just laughed.  “I’m not sure,” he said with a shrug, unfairly relaxed even as Louis felt like he was going to come apart at the seams.  “Because you’re a friend of a friend, I suppose.”

Louis waved a hand vaguely in his direction.  “Well, don’t bother,” he told the DJ, trying to sound nonchalant even though every muscle in his body was on high alert.  “It’s not a big deal…I just want to get there.”  Then, trying his best to sound casual despite the way he was desperately pressing his legs together, he asked hopefully, “So, how much longer do you think it’ll take?”

“Should be a half hour.”  Louis felt his heart sink.  That was a half hour too long.  “Then we’ll get Harry and we can go back to ignoring each other…I promise.”

Louis wanted to come up with a snarky reply, but he was much too focused on not wetting himself to get out much more than a shaky “good.”  He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the seat, crossing his legs at the knee and trying to ignore the way the waistband of his jeans was cutting uncomfortably into his stomach.  It was almost a relief when Nick went back to rambling – this time about some new hipster indie shit that Harry would probably love – because it restored some normalcy to the situation.  As if anything that was happening could be considered “normal.”

Louis was just starting to get a handle on the situation when Nick slammed on the brakes, making the seatbelt lock up and Louis’ eyes fly open.  He let out a strangled sound and his hands flew down to his crotch of their own accord.  He managed to hold on, but he was starting to realize just how incredibly dire his situation really was.  He’d almost lost it.  His face heating up with embarrassment, Louis rounded on the DJ and practically shouted, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Chill _out_ , darling,” Nick said, his tone annoyingly unaffected.  “A cat ran across the road.  What did you want me to do…hit it?”

“No, I just…” Louis pulled his knees up to his chin, which would have been no easy feat in the front seat of a car even if he wasn’t about to wet his pants.  He let out a slow, shaky breath and finally admitted, beyond humiliated, “I really have to wee.”  The words came out as barely a whisper.

The corners of Nick’s mouth turned up in an aggravating smirk.  “That’s pretty obvious, love,” he cooed patronizingly, making Louis bristle.  “Why wouldn’t you just say so?”

“Whatever,” Louis snapped, rolling his eyes and giving his crotch a furtive squeeze as a wave of desperation washed over him. His teeth were beginning to hurt from how hard he was clenching them.  “Can we quit talking about it and just stop somewhere?”

“I’d love to, but we aren’t going to pass a convenience store or petrol station for quite a while.”  Nick shrugged, doing little to disguise the amusement in his voice.  “You should’ve said something when we drove through that town back there…cute little place, wasn’t it?  Lots of buildings.  Lots of toilets.”

Arching his back off the seat and moaning quietly to himself, Louis huffed in annoyance, “I don’t care!  I’ll go in a field or something…just pull over!”  Then, knowing he was in no position to be prideful – that ship had well and truly sunk when he’d had to hold himself like a little kid – he added weakly, “ _Please_.”

Nick clucked his tongue, reaching over to pat Louis on the thigh.  He jerked in response, a little gasp falling from between his lips.  “I can’t let you do that,” the DJ said, his soothing tone offset by the evil delight dancing in his eyes.  “What if someone got a picture?  We can’t very well have your ding-a-ling all over the internet, can we?  Think of your fans, Tomlinson.  Think of the _children_.”

Frustrated and in pain, Louis let go of himself long enough to smack Nick right in the shoulder.  It was almost laughably ineffective but it was the best he could do under the circumstances.  “I don’t _care_ about the children,” he groaned, pulling at the locked door handle in agitation.  “Just let me out!”

The older man let out a scandalized gasp, his hand flying to his heart in feigned shock.  “I’m appalled.  Like, I’m literally disgusted.  What’s gotten into you lately?”

Louis could hardly hear him.  In a blind panic, he bent himself nearly in half, both hands scrabbling at the glove compartment in front of him as if searching desperately for something to ground him.  “I will throw myself out of this car if you don’t stop!  I swear it!”

“I’d kind of like to see that, if I’m completely honest,” Nick rambled and Louis wondered fleetingly if he ever shut up before his mind was once again clouded with _have to go so bad_ and _need to get out of this vehicle immediately_ and _I’m probably going to die_ _like this_.  “It’s no secret that you’re athletic, but a jump like that could injure even the best of us.  Better not risk it.”

And just like that Louis knew he was done for.  “Shut u--- _shit_.”  Heat flooded into his cheeks and he couldn’t hold back a bitten-off moan as warm wetness starting spreading down the front of his jeans.  He tried with all his might to stop, he really did, but it was no use.  More embarrassed than he’d ever been in his entire life, Louis buried his face in his hands and quietly finished up, trying not to cry.

“ _Crap_ ,” he heard from the drivers’ seat, but he refused to look up, hiding behind his trembling hands.  “Crap, Louis…”

“Don’t say a word,” Louis begged, trying for firm and in-control but missing by a long shot.  He could feel his eyes filling with pesky tears as the full realization of what happened washed over him.  He’d just _pissed himself_.  In Nick Grimshaw’s _car_.  “Please, just don’t speak.”

The car was silent, the air so heavy it was almost oppressive.  Louis flinched a little when a warm hand rubbed hesitantly across his back.  Nick’s voice was strangely sincere when he said, clearly trying to keep his tone light, “It’s okay, Louis.  It’s alright.”

Confused, Louis finally dropped his hands from his face to look at the older man.  Nick’s brow was furrowed and Louis was shocked to see sympathy written in his eyes.  Shaking his head, Nick finally pulled the car over to the side of the road.  “A bit late for that,” Louis said ruefully, gesturing vaguely at his wet pants and blushing anew.

“I should’ve done it when you asked,” Nick answered, his tone regretful.  “It was just supposed to be a little joke, you know?  It wasn’t supposed to go that far.”  Even as small and as stupid as he felt, Louis couldn’t help but smile a little at the pink that dusted the DJ’s cheeks.  It was nice to see _him_ squirming for a change.  “I’m sorry, okay?”

“Okay,” Louis mumbled grudgingly, then his shoulders tensed.  “You’re not gonna talk about this on radio are you?”  He felt himself start to panic again, fearing the entire country – not to mention the entire _fanbase_ – would know his secret by morning.  Nick wasn’t exactly known for his discretion.  “I can’t spend the rest of my career being called Lou- _wee_ Tomlinson…I just can’t.”

Surprised and delighted, Nick clapped his hands together gleefully.  “I never would have even thought of that!” he crowed.  “That’s brilliant!”  But before Louis could protest, he placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.  “I’m not going to say anything, alright?  I promise.  We’ll just pretend this never happened.”

Louis narrowed his eyes suspiciously.  “Why are you being so nice to me?”

Nick rolled his eyes so hard Louis was almost afraid they’d get stuck.  “It may come as a shock to you, but I’m not actually a terrible person, love.  The way I see it, any guy that pisses himself at age twenty-one has already been punished enough.”

Nick was right and it was mortifying, but Louis managed to laugh a little under his breath, relieved in more ways than one.  “Thanks,” he sighed, wondering if hell was turning to ice miles beneath their feet.  Because in what universe did Louis feel beholden to _Nick Grimshaw_ of all people?  It was a lot to take in.

“Are we done here, then?” Nick asked from the driver’s seat, shifting the car back into gear.  “Or are there more things you need to pee on first?”

Louis grinned good-naturedly, shaking his head.  “Leave it be and let’s go get Harry.”

“Right on,” Nick agreed, pulling back onto the road.  

The car smelled vaguely of piss and Louis kept squirming, tugging at his wet jeans in annoyance, but Nick soon took right back up where he left off, bragging about Puppy and making random observations about the countryside that was flying past their windows.  This time Louis found it a little bit easier to join in.  After all, it’s not like Louis _hated_ Nick Grimshaw…that definitely wasn’t it.

(And if Nick replaces “whiny popstar” with “lovely popstar” on the Breakfast Show the next morning, no one has to know why.)


End file.
